Fantasies Swept Away: The 29th Hunger Games
by Winter's Writing
Summary: "They might be murderous, or cruel, or just plain odious, but they're children, and they don't deserve to be here. We didn't deserve to be here. No one did." Everyone gets a POV! (The arena may or may not be obvious from the picture, haha) SYOT closed, but you can still read and enjoy! :D
1. Prologue 1: Food and Competition

**Rania La Tristan, 23, Mutt-Design Gamemaker**

I like the Capitol mainly because of its food.

The fact is that a lot of the districts don't have food a lot, but food is almost unlimited here, and there are so many different kinds! You can never get bored with Capitol food on your plate, and that's a good thing, because a bunch of my companions are extremely tedious. They only want to talk about clothes and parties! Parties I can deal with, but why clothes? They're not really that interesting.

"So, Rania," drawls Embeth Quirina, a veteran Gamemaker, "Has Swanilda told you the arena yet? She's retiring this year, you know. She says it'll be great, but I think it's a bit too old and dusty. I hope it won't be too hard for you to design the mutts."

"I specialise in old and dusty, Embeth," I reply, "and just because you've been here longer doesn't mean you'll be Head Gamemaker next year. Everyone has a chance."

Everyone nods, and Embeth looks mildly ticked off. She's always been either condescending or passive-aggressive with me, and Uma, an intern who I'm quite fond of, told me it was probably because I was one of the only ones who could rival her skills. Uma's a year younger than I am, and she's quite nice, and pretty intelligent as well.

"Good morning, all, " says Swanilda, siting down on a chair, "Sorry I'm late, I had to supervise the arena plans. You know this is my last year, and I want to go out with a bang. Now, what's for brunch?"

We eat our food, which is delicious, and chat with each other. The table's pretty big, us Main Gamemakers are all here. I'm the Director Of Muttations, Embeth's the Director of Tribute Affairs, et cetera. Swanilda is sort of in charge of everything, which is pretty cool. She could probably be the President, she's an awesome leader.

"I suppose there are some questions you'd like to be answered," Swanilda addresses with her mellifluous yet business-like tone, "First, President Aquilo has allowed me to choose my successor, which is extremely helpful of him. He's a good man, you know."

"Of course we know," pipes up Kristiia from the other side of the table, "He's the reason life is so great, heck, he's the reason we're here today!"

"True," adds Ethania, her twin sister, "If I met him personally, the first thing I'd do would be thanking him."

"Indeed," says Swanilda, a faint smile on her face, "So for the next few weeks, I will be looking over you VERY CAREFULLY to see who will be a worthy successor. I will announce my predecessor at a special presentation at the victor's crowning. Do your best work, trust me, it will be rewarding."

We chatter amongst ourselves excitedly like little children, knowing that the next Head Gamemaker is sitting at this table. Ethania or Kristiia would be a good pick, or even I might to an okay job. I just hope it's not Embeth. I find her a bit obnoxious.

"Now," declared Swanilda, "the moment you've all been waiting for, the arena reveal. Some of you might know about it already, in which case I am sorely disappointed. These things are just better as surprises. Since we are in a public place, I will write down the arena and a description, then you can all pass it around."

She scribbles some notes on a napkin, and it goes around the circle. I watch the readers' faces intently, looking for any clues. The reactions range from disgust to surprise to just plain cluelessness. Finally, the napkin is passed to me. My smile grows wider as I read, and I only just stopped myself from cheering at the top of my voice once I had finished. The arena was made for me.

That Head Gamemaker position might as well be mine.

 **Hello everyone, and welcome to my second SYOT! For those who don't know me, my name is Winter, and I've already written one SYOT, but you don't have to read it in order to enjoy this. Rules are below, and the form should be up on my profile soon. Sorry for the short prologue, I didn't quite know what else to put. I will not officially start the Reapings until Moon Skies is completed, as that would be insanely complicated, well, for me anyway. Here are the rules, and please submit!:**

 **1: This isn't first come, first serve. I will take the best tribute for each slot, though I will try to make it so that as many authors as possible get a slot.**

 **2: No review submissions. I only accepted one last time because I was a really desperate noob (Robin Wood doesn't count, she was also PMed to me). PM ONLY or your submission is null and void**

 **3: Please don't submit clichés/Mary Sues/Gary Stus, etc. It's a waste of time.**

 **4: DON'T RAGE if your tribute doesn't get in. Please.**

 **5: Well, for this one, I need an example. Okay, a user named ThomasHungerGamesFan submitted tributes to me last time, and wasn't really satisfied with how one of them was written. He PMed me courteously, and we were able to work things out. Basically what I'm saying is you CAN PM me if your tribute isn't what you imagined, but be polite like Thomas, please.**

 **6: Form should be on my profile soon. Have fun!**


	2. Prologue 2: Family and Friends

**Airisu Wolfe, 20, Head of the Tribute Building**

 **"The Games Girl"**

 _"I had dreams when I was a kid. I just didn't know where they'd take me."_

* * *

I take a sip of coffee, and smile as I read the headline, AMIAS WOLFE TAKES OVER MASTER OF CEREMONIES POST. My big brother is amazing. He'd been dreaming about this ever since he was a little kid, and before we knew it, he'd graduated at the top of his Public Speaking class in a university with a name so long my tongue hurts to even think it. I wanted to be involved in the Games too. I had dreams as a kid. I just didn't know where they'd take me.

At first, I wanted to be a tribute, when I was really little, then I learnt where most ended up, and I scrapped the idea in favour of being a Victor. Hey, I was eight years old! What do you expect? Then I realised that the Victor needed to be in the actual Hunger Games, and I abandoned it. My dream of being a stylist evaporated when Dad showed me his role as the Head of Sponsorship, and I wanted to be that until just recently.

I passed the course. I was more than worthy of being it. Eighteen years old and already graduated university, they'd be crazy not to hire me. They did hire me, but not for the post I imagined. I didn't even know that was a viable career choice, and when I first got the news, I said I'd be fine with Head of Sponsorship, thank you very much.

But they didn't listen, and I got roped into being the Head of the Tribute Building for the Twenty-Eighth Hunger Games. It was surprisingly fun. The accommodations were nice, I didn't have to do any grunt work, and I got to meet most of the tributes. I was happy with that year's victor, Altalune Moonstruck from Twelve, as I'd had a few conversations with the girl, and she seemed pretty nice. I got to oversee pretty much everything that happened in the Tribute Building, which was again, pretty much everything. I loved life.

I'm excited to do it again this year, especially since the Master of Ceremonies also lives in the Tribute Building during the Games period, so I'll be able to spend time with Amias, who I haven't seen in ages. Also, I have some exciting events to, well, spice up the Pre-Games. Why should Gamemakers get all the fun? Yes, I know twists are only for Quells, but isn't the element of surprise important for a twist?

I take my red notebook out of the shelf, the one I use for Games stuff. I colour-code my notebooks, so I don't mess anything up. Red is for Hunger Games stuff, orange is for shopping lists, yellow is my diary, green has all my finance stuff, blue has random notes, and purple is the one which I keep clear in case I fill up one of the books, and I don't have time to buy another one.

"Guess who's early?", says a wonderfully familiar voice.

"Amias!", I hug my brother, "Congratulations!"

"Thanks!", he replied, cheerful as ever, "But you were the one who first got the Games position."

"I guess, but how often do you hear "Head of the Tribute Building" as one of the jobs the little kids want?", I laugh.

"Well, those are the little kids who say they want to fight Hiroto Maddox to the death," he replied, "So, I won't think about their personal opinions too much. It's a good thing I've got the older kids, no delusions there."

"True," I reply, "So, how's moving going?"

"Very hard," he laughs, "I'm still waiting for the truck to deliver the rest of my boxes!"

A device beeps in his pocket, and he quickly checks it, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

"Well, they're finally here, apparently," he says, "See you later, sis, nice speaking to you!"

"Don't forget to stop by for dinner tonight!", I reply, "Lya, Caesar, Kai and I are having a marathon of the most awful movies ever, starting with The Games Hero, it'll be fun!"

"The Games Hero?", he replies with a smirk, "Cringe-y, cheesy and with absolutely awful special effects. I'm in! I'll bring popcorn!"

"Okay, bye!"

I grin. These Games are going to be fun. If I can actually work out what the training twist will be.

I bite my lip when I see that my red book is almost out of pages. I'll have to see if I can dash out and get another before my friends come over. I guess I'll have to fill up the few remaining ones with plans. Lots of them.

After about half an hour, I have decided that there will be three mini-twists, just to shake things up a little. First, a private interview with every tribute, held by myself, that they're told will just stay between them and me, but will really be broadcast to the entire nation. I know, I'm mean, but they're the ones going into a deathmatch. Second, a day where tributes are grouped into eight groups of three, randomly selected, and have to stick together the whole day doing stuff on the fun floors of the Games building. Third, I have a few ideas, but I haven't decided yet. Maybe a public vote.

Yes. That should make people happy.

* * *

 **Fenris Perrin, 22, Victor of the 25th Hunger Games**

 **"The Loyal Wolf"**

 _"Yes, I am female. Yes, I'm aware that Fenris is usually a male's name. But when exactly did I ask for your opinion?"_

* * *

When people ask me if I'm surprised that I won my Games, I deny it. Why? I didn't go to the toughest Academy, well, the only Academy in the district, for people to ask if I'm surprised that I didn't die. And besides, it was the 25th Hunger Games, where undesirables were sent in from every district, except One and Two. One is never a threat. My partner was only a hinderance to my image, because with some weird coincidence, I shared a first name with him. He was insufferable, so I cut his head open with my double-bladed axe, which was one of the best decisions of my life. I didn't have to worry about the Capitol, they wouldn't let any of the hated kids win, only the loyal ones, and one was dead and two were on track to joining him. I was the only one who made sense as a Victor.

I would have thought winning the _special_ Hunger Games would have given me more attention or whatever, but I'm just like any other Victor, pretty much, except insane Sophie Anderson. Goodness, that girl is freaky, I'm glad I'm not in Nine. Well, most of us are insane, but she is the most insane out of us. Apparently something terrible happened in her childhood that rendered her depressed for the rest of her life. Makes me glad I was at the Academy.

Anyway, I like hanging out with my closest Victor friends, Atalanta and Trident, we're a weird group, sure, but they're some of the best friends I've had in my life. Speaking of which...

"Fenris!", The two, with some vaguely famous person, walk into the very shiny, very extravagant, very Capitol shopping mall, where I'm waiting for them. You're surprised that a bunch of butchers frequent the biggest mall in the Capitol? You haven't seen anything yet, I once saw Vulcan freaking Hardy, the most respected man in our district, go into a cheap kids' birthday party playground place thing. I never worked out what those things were called.

"Hi!", I greet them, "Who's the third?"

"Rissy, are you really telling me that you don't remember Altalune Moonstruck from last year?", replied Atalanta, "I knew you were a little forgetful, but she was just, like, a few months ago!"

"Don't call me Rissy!", I reply with a scowl that morphs into a smile as I face the 17-year-old, "Hey, Altalune. I guess we know each other, since we're famous and all that, but it's nice to meet you in person!"

"Thanks!", the girl replies, "It's great to meet you too, Fenris!"

"Hey, look!", someone with rabbit ears yells, "It's Victors!"

"Well, we weren't noticed for about a minute," comments Trident, "That's a new record. Now, we need to run like the wind!"

It must have been a weird sight, four Victors sprinting through a shopping centre, but we just need to get away from the crowds. Altalune looks confused, Trident is looking for a store with stuff we can use to fend them off, and Atalanta is just grinning. Me? I don't know, I never bring mirrors with me.

Soon, Trident leads us to a clothes store, where we hastily dress in outfits that will disguise us, and pay for them, much to the confusion of the cashier, who makes a weird face when we don't show ours. We have a fit of giggles once we're outside, and go to a nearby café to grab something to eat.

"So, Altalune," asks Trident as we eat, "How's Victor life treating you?"

"Good! My family was pretty poor before I won, so it's great to see them happy and not stressed about food," she replies, "But I've had these hand pains every so often, and I'm thinking it's to do with the Arena, but I'm sure it's nothing too bad."

"Okay, it's your hand," replies Atalanta, "Have you found a hobby yet?"

"I like to dance," she replies, "but I'm not that good at it, so I don't think I'll have it as a hobby. I hope I find a good one soon. What are your hobbies?"

"My hobby is gossip," I say with a smirk, "The Capitol loves all the photos I take of ladies without wigs and all that."

"Come on, Fenris," says Trident jokingly, "We all know your talent is just photography. I, on the other hand, tell stories."

"That's the same thing, you hypocrite," laughs Atalanta, "I do track and field myself, but never mind. I think we all know what to do next."

"Go find Moony here a hobby!", chimes Trident.

"Not what I had in mind," Ata replied, "but let's do that, if it's alright with Altalune."

"Yeah, let's do it!", said the young Victor.

We pay for our food, and leave, Moony _,_ Ata, Denty and me. Nah, those nicknames are lame.

* * *

 **And here is another prologue, featuring Airisu Wolfe, though you know her if you've read Moon Skies, and Fenris Perrin, the victor of the Quarter Quell! What were your thoughts on these two? How do you think they'll affect the story? What might Airisu's changes to the Games mean for the Capitol, and more importantly, the tributes? All will be answered!**

 **More importantly, escort submissions are open! I have had exactly one escort submission for Fantasies Swept Away, and while that escort was awesome, they can't escort the whole of Panem. I have also got one reader submitted escort and one escort I made up, both from Moon Skies. These tributes aren't going to reap themselves, so please submit! I don't have a set form for escorts, so you can use any form.**

 **Thank you for following my account!**


	3. District Two: Marcelia and Crew

**Marcelia Arbor, 18, District 2 Female**

 _"Pleased to meet you. My name is Marcelia Arbor"_

* * *

"Marcy, you can't train all day. Mandatory training ended an hour ago."

Ursula isn't the worst training partner ever. She's better than that Wisteria, who seems to want to take down our glorious system, Aquilo knows why. She's better than Megaera, who's bubbly and kind, but an absolute idiot at fighting. She's better than Dione, my best friend, because she has a lack of mercy and is a proficient fighter, like myself. But she's still a bit upset that she didn't get the volunteer spot. She annoys me sometimes.

But don't misinterpret that, Ursula is still one of my friends. She sits with us at break time, and her wittiness is appreciated. She's been one of my roommates ever since I came to the Academy, and naturally, we were training partners. She's a worthy opponent, and a worthy friend.

"Ursula, you know I need to train," I say with a determined scowl, "And don't call me Marcy. I was named Marcelia for a reason."

She shrugs and picks up a spear from the rack. I know what's going to happen. Ursula only grabs a spear like that on one occasion.

"I suppose you'd like to fight?", I say, "Games style, any weapon, any technique counts."

She grins. Of course she does.

I grab two axes from the axe pile. It's a strange story how I became an axe fighter. I was born with a birthmark on my collar, which just looks like an anomaly to some, but if you see it the right way, it looks like an extremely blurry axe. I tried it, and indeed, I showed proficiency with the weapon. I am now the top axe-user in the Academy, though that's mostly because not many people use the axe.

We slip on the old metal and leather chestplates provided so we don't accidently cut each other in two, and ready our weapons. I can use any axe, but ever since I swung a sharpened, new axe in the volunteer tests, the blunt, old axes for normal training seem lesser. I can't wait to have that feeling of freedom again when the axe swings through the air.

We place the minuscule electronic scorers on the tip of Ursula's spear, and on the blades of my axes, which will put our scores up on the small scoreboard in the room. It's easier than counting ourselves as we fight. According to our instructor, they were based on fencing equipment from before Panem, but have become far more sophisticated.

We face each other, and at the nod of Ursula's head, we begin. I don't want to risk throwing my axe, in case it kills her. I have a plan, though. Of course, I will never do this in the Games, it is rather dishonourable, but any technique counts.

I leap up and push her to the ground, and touch my axe to her chest. One point to me. She gets up, and dusts herself off. No crying for the strong. A blue 1 flashes on the scoreboard.

Next round, I take a more traditional approach. I parry with the axe, it's odd, but it works, and eventually, I hit her with the axe. Two points to me.

It continues in this vein, until I win with five points. I shake Ursula's hand with a smile. We take off our armour, and painstakingly remove the scorers from the weapons, being careful not to tear them. We place them carefully in the pile, and I put my axe back in the box, while Ursula places her spear on the rack.

Even I agree that that's enough training. We agree to go to the milkshake place down the street, and meet Dione, Megaera and Wisteria. Secretly, I only agreed to go because I needed a protein shake after training, though I know that for all her moodiness, Ursula loves chocolate milkshakes.

The Victorious Milkshake Parlour, known for its drinks named after the Victors, is decorated in pastel colours instead of the normal grey and black in Two, has a few groups there. Dione, Megaera and Wisteria are already there, and we sit down at their table. Well, it sells all kinds of cold drinks, but it does make good milkshakes.

"I presume you came from training?" asked Wisteria, "I don't know why you do it, it's setting yourself up for death in the death match, in this corrupt country."

"She's training to SURVIVE the deathmatch, Wist," says Dione with a smirk. She always did have excellent comebacks.

"Welcome to the Victorious Milkshake Parlour," says a waiter, "May I take your orders?"

"I will have the Mimi Liang Sweet Honey Blend Frappucino," says Dione. She always has that.

"One Persephone Frostine Fairy Good Spider, with no ice cream," says Megaera with a grin. What even is the point of having a drink named after the pipsqueak if it doesn't have ice cream?

"I don't know if you still have it, but if you do, an Andrea McGuphry Totally ROCKing chocolate milkshake with popping candy," says Ursula. The waiter nods and she smiles.

"Sophie Anderson Insanely Delicious Cherry Iced Tea," Wisteria says, staring straight at the waiter, "Wow, naming a drink after a mentally scarred teen. Classy." Must she be so rebellious?

"Pleased to meet you, my name is Marcelia Arbor," I shake his hand, "I will have a Fenris Perrin Quelling Protein Shake, please and thank you."

"Do you always have to get those?", says Megaera, "They taste like sawdust."

"I have to agree with her there," comments Dione, "Those are the grossest drinks this place serves."

We thank the waiter when our drinks come, and Ursula immediately marches off, then sits back at our table, plastic straw in her hand. She sticks it into my drink, and has a sip. Her face screws up.

"Yep," she grimaces, "Sawdust."

I take her straw out, and start drinking. It doesn't taste like sawdust. If anything, it tastes like the Academy, working, training, all for our great nation. But of course, the Academy doesn't have a taste, so that's silly.

Everyone makes fun of me for training so much. I know in Two honour is respected above all, but I train constantly, rather than partying or doing any other teenage stuff. They don't understand, they think that I'm some emotionless machine. They don't understand I had to watch my mother…oh, I can't bear to think it. They don't understand she died right in front of me.

Panem saved me, the Peacekeepers brought the awful people to justice and put me in the Academy. And I have faith that Panem will save me again and again in the future.

* * *

 **Crew Jackson, 18, District 2 Male**

 _"No one's immortal, it's just no one's has found a way to kill them."_

* * *

The Academy isn't really my style.

To be fair, I've never tried it out, but it just seems like a bunch of brainwashed people running around screaming, "PANEM WILL SAVE US!". My alternative is much better.

When I was a baby, my father knew the right way to raise me. He couldn't, he was single, had committed some sort of crime, and my mother was not there. He was in trouble, so he handed me over to the Brass Templars.

We have a few old pictures and texts, about our inspiration, considered ancient in the ancient country before Panem. Knights, battling proudly. Not Peacekeepers, I have no respect for them.

The Academy doesn't accept random kids off the street, and think they're some kind of awful. Well, I do remember being told about one or two. Apparently one is the chosen volunteer this year. But anyway, the Templars do.

There is not a shield in sight in the Academy. Shields are essential here. The kids over there are taught to fight, that defence isn't important. If I hadn't been here, and learnt about balance, I'd be one of them.

Which is why I'm here now. Fortuna and I are some of the best warriors here. I block her sword with my shield, and charge. She parries, and knocks me back with her shield. I jump up, and fight her. I'm about to hit her when-

"Crew, Fortuna!" yelled Alexis, "They've called break! You wasted three minutes fighting! I swear, if you didn't already have a special someone, you'd be kissing by now! Let's go, Hero's waiting!"

Hero and Alexis Mason, twin brother and sister weren't handed over, like I was. They were found on the streets, barely a year old. If the Founder hadn't well, found them when he did, they would have died. But you'd never know they're "some of those rotten Templar kids" when you look at them. Clean blonde hair, tall, and happy. It's more obvious for me. I've been seen with the Founder many times, and my coming-of-age tattoo is sort of obvious to the eye.

I reluctantly go outside. Training is my life, and I feel sort of empty when I'm not doing something to prepare for the Games. It's going to be my final trial before I take over the Templars from the aging Founder. I'm fast, I can get there before the chosen guinea pig this year. And I HAVE to win.

I sit at the table with Hero and Alexis, and wolf down my sandwich, while my friends watch on with a smirk.

"Classic Crew," comments Hero, "You've been working constantly ever since the Founder told you about your final trial, it'll do you some good to settle down, or at least do something more relaxing."

Hero's basically the only person keeping me from training all the time. We've been dating since we were both 16, what can I say, he makes me happy! He's supported me through training, and inspired me when I wanted to give up. I guess, in a way, he'd be a better leader than me, but I can't change what the Founder thinks.

"Fine," I reply with a smile, "Any news about the Games this year?"

"I have it from a reliable source that the Pre-Games might be changed a little bit," Alexis reported, "But they never told me why. I suspect it's because of a new employee. And the Gamemakers are fighting over who will take over Swanilda Lucian's position, so the arena this year is probably going to be very cool."

"And very dangerous," adds Hero.

"More mutts?" I ask.

"Definitely," says Alexis, "And maybe poisonous water, birds that peck your eyes out, and flowers that release lethal chemicals into the air."

"Don't scare him, Lexi," laughs Hero, "They don't want the number of tributes to be halved on the first day!"

"Interesting," I comment, "Anything else?"

"Hero and I have done some snooping," says Alexis, "and we think we know who the chosen volunteers are."

"The male is Hypnos Shale," reports Hero, "Big, tough, spear user, sort of dumb."

"And the female?"

"Marcelia Arbor," says Alexis, "Agile, skilled, axe user, so patriotic it's stupid."

"So, I'm going into the Games with Marcelia," I say, "And it sounds like Hypnos will be easy to beat."

"Exactly," says Hero.

"Oh!" says Alexis, "Did you hear, Crimson Cepheus is out of prison!"

"How many were there, again?"

"Three, but Carmine is now a patriotic Capitolite, and the little one escaped a few years back."

"What were they in for this time?" asks Hero, a smirk on his face. Alexis seems to live for gossip.

"Carmine was in for treason but gave up her criminal ways, Cerise was in for murder and meddling with the Games, and Crimson was in for aiding and abetting. A lot suspect it's just them, but I think it's a HUGE anti-Panem underground society!"

"That's….interesting," I say, "but I really should be getting into training. I'll see you later!"

And I dash off before either can object. Hero and Alexis are practically family, well, it's sort of weird with me dating Hero, but they've cared for me all these years. But that can't get in the way of my goal.

Alexis' news is making my head spin. I know where to go to calm down. I rush to the ancient library of materials, and trace over the figures in armour in the paintings. Soon, I will be one of them. Soon, I will go down in history.

* * *

 **Yes, I said I'd upload another prologue. I've decided that the POVs in that prologue would be better placed throughout the story, so it doesn't really matter. I'm sorry this took so long to come out, I would have finished it the other day, but I had a clarinet test and my school got evacuated, so it's here a bit late. What are your thoughts on Marcelia and Crew? They were submitted by kashew klick and TehTempler respectively, so thanks for these epic tributes!**

 **Thank you for following Fantasies Swept Away!**


	4. District Seven: Rowan and Jules

**Rowan Haloway, 16, District 7 Female**

 _"Fat girls from Seven like me don't win the Games."_

* * *

I know most girls from some of the richer districts would scream if they got a paper cut, but that's basically my life. Don't get me wrong, I'm not tough. I'm just a pudgy, shy Seven girl, nothing to see here, let's move on.

My mother is the opposite of me. Stern, beautiful, smart, Cedara Haloway is the pinnacle of success in Seven. Mother and Father own a paper mill, and my job is to separate paper. I'd prefer to do something more interesting, but it's a start.

I have long hours, but I'm usually off by about four, as is my friend Amber. We usually walk home together, quickly. We go slowly and happily, we have a bit of fun before going home to boring chores and homework.

"I always wonder what I'd be if I was a part of a garden," says Amber with a smile, skipping along the path, "I don't know, I'd perhaps be a with hidden amongst the shrubbery, making potions all day long."

"Easy for you to say," I comment, "You're actually good at chemistry."

"Chemistry sucks, the Capitol doesn't give us the fun stuff," she replies, "It's just learning about them, not actually doing the experiments, which is useless. I want to makes things explode and change, and "

"I guess."

"But Rowan," she says, "what would you be?"

I stop and think. I could be a tree. Trees have it easy. They don't have to worry about not being smart or pretty enough, they don't have to be jealous of the perfectly clear fingertips of the other girls. No one teases them for being quiet or high-strung, and no one moves around or changes. They just stay in one place.

I could be a flower. Everyone likes flowers. They're colourful and perfect, the most beautiful things. The delicate rich girls at school wear flower garlands. I tried once, but was laughed out of the playground. I'm sure that Oakleigh Sourgrass still has my wilted flower garland, after all these years, out of pure spite, and will keep it until it turns to dust.

I could be a strong lumberjack, hacking away at trees with a shiny metal axe, and defending people who can't defend themselves. I would never have a papercut again. At the end of a day, I'd wipe the sweat from my brow and go with my friends to dinner. They wouldn't make fun of my pudginess, they'd just think it muscle.

But the majority of the trees in the district are cut down and shipped to fancy Capitol houses to make mahogany tables and whatnot. The flowers are plucked up to make chains and garlands only worn for a day. Lumberjacks run out of strength eventually, and then they drink their sorrows away at the bar.

"I think I'd be the fairy at the bottom of the garden," I say, "like in the old stories."

"Yes!" exclaimed Amber, "I can imagine it now! You'd be a rowan tree fairy, with berries woven into your hair, and a dress made of bark and leaves, with beautiful matching wings!"

"And you'd be shining in saffron, with strings of amber, like the sun," I continue, though quieter, "Like that Two girl from ages ago."

"Rowan, I can tell you this," says Amber with a grin, "You're quiet as hell and really cold to literally everyone else, but you're a cool person. Got any paper?"

"Thanks," I say, "Of course I have paper. My parents literally own the paper mill."

I hand over a sheet of paper to Amber, who fishes an old pencil out of her pocket. I wince at the sight of it. It's short, grubby, and has bite marks on it. It's disgusting.

She quickly scribbles two figures. Amber's always had a talent for drawing, and this is no different. One had long, lustrous black hair, an enormous leather hat, and long, flowing robes. Mysterious bottles are hung from belts, strings and pockets. She wields a gnarled old staff, with magic dust around it. Around her neck is a string of what I presume is amber. She stirs a cauldron with a wicked grin.

"That one's me," says Amber, "I've always wanted hair like that. I'm brewing another magical potion, see, then I will load it into the bottle in my staff to shoot at the bad guys!"

She points to another figure. Her hair is in plaits, woven with branches and rowan leaves, the occasional berry or two. She has an enormous smile on her face. Her dress is made out of leaves, and looks beautiful. She has two large gossamer wings, and goes barefoot.

Well, I'm guessing most of it. It's blurry and smudged, but I can see it crystal clear in my mind, me flying around while Amber stirs her potion.

"Is that one me?" I ask.

"Yeah," she replies, "Cool, huh!"

"Yes," I reply, "I really need to be going now. I have to do my homework."

"Okay," says Amber, "Bye, Rowan!"

"Bye."

I walk home, and run to my bedroom. It has a small mirror which I peer into, trying to work out if I've miraculously become beautiful overnight. I haven't.

I still have my hair, which is good. My long, red hair is pretty much my only redeeming quality. Then I have my normal eyes, my normal mouth, and my pudginess. Mother said I would grow into it eventually, and I'd be as beautiful as she was. I highly doubt that. I can't see very well in the mirror, so I don't know if I have freckles or not. My parents don't know I need glasses. That is not helpful, but helps me not get teased as much as the nerds at school.

I scrabble at my bun, and eventually get my hair out. It's relatively long, stopping just above my elbows. I grab a brush from my table and run it through my hair. It's hard, because it's thick and coarse.

My appearance isn't great, my mind isn't great. I'm not particularly talented either. I'm just a normal girl, for better or for worse.

* * *

 **Jules Mooney, 15, District 7 Male**

 _"This is gonna be fun."_

* * *

"Everyone put your foot in," says my little sister, Spots. Well, of course, her real name isn't Spots, and she's just my half-sister. Her real name's Mannon, but I call her Spots, and all of my siblings are half-siblings, but they're family. She has a birthmark over her eye, which she used to be teased over, but now she isn't mocked for it much anymore.

We're playing another game of hide and seek, one of her favourites. It's a pretty large game, there's me, there are my other little sisters Ilya, Delainey, and little Cynthia, there's Spots, and my friends Tate and Seth. It's easy for me to beat Cynthia and Spots, I'm strong and powerful from all the work I've done in the fields. Ilya, Delainey, Tate and Seth are my biggest competition. They're strong too.

Spots keeps on with her way of determining who will be the seeker, counting feet with a rhyme, and eliminating people until two feet remain, mine and Ilya's. I hold my breath, it has to be Ilya who's the seeker.

"And our seeker is Ilya! Start counting!" Spots shouts, and runs off to hide while Ilya starts to count to fifty.

"Yes!" I whoop, "Ilya, we will beat you!"

"You wish, Julian! One, two…"

I run off before she gets to three. This whole meadow is awesome for hide and seek. There are trees with forts we've built over the years, tons of shrubbery, and hidden glades. We'd get lost if we didn't know this place like the back of our hand.

I dive into a large bush. When I'm here, I'm totally invisible to seekers, unless they know where to look, which is unlikely, as I only found this place the other day, as seeker.

"Ha, suck it! I got here first!"

I grin, then it promptly fades when I realise that Ilya probably heard that. I reluctantly abandon my perfect place, and slowly get to my feet to search for a new one.

After much searching, I find one of old treehouses that we made. I can't remember when it was, most of our treehouse-building sessions have just blurred together in an amorphous lump. I scramble up the tree, and crouch in the small structure.

I can hear the shouts of the twins, which means they've probably been caught. They are never careful hiders. I know I'm a better fighter, but I need to hide if I'm going to volunteer for the Games.

Everyone else thinks I'm insane, suicidal, or both. But I just have a competitive streak, is that too much to handle? Jean, my awesome older cousin, was reaped at fifteen and was amazing, but second isn't good enough. There's no use grieving, you have to be better. I've become stronger, I've become smarter, I'm ready to win.

But now isn't the time to think about that. Ilya is approaching, her feet crunching against the sticks and leaves on the ground. I peer out of a window we put in, not with real glass, of course. She is looking around, then her head jerks up, as I duck. She looks away, then looks at the window again. The familiar crunch of feet against sticks starts again, and I know now is a good time to run.

I jump to the ground, landing on my feet like a cat, and start jogging towards the safe tree. The large oak, letters and words scratched into it for many years, is easy to see, and the ideal "home".

"It seems I have outwitted you."

Ilya jumps down from the tree, how did she get there? She taps me on the shoulder with a smirk. I'm caught. _Damn._

She walks me to the tree, where everyone else is, her smug smile never dropping. She won the battle, but I will win the war!

"Well, I've won," Ilya said once everyone was at the tree, "Jules, you need to be a bit more alert if you're going to be the next Jean!"

"Whatever," I reply, "We need to set up, it's getting dark. Spots, Lainey and Cynthia, get out the food! Seth and Tate, put up the tents! And Ilya, whoever gets the most firewood in five minutes is the best!"

I take off, happy that I get to run again. I scoop armfuls and armfuls of wood, and dump them in a huge pile where the fire should be. By the time five minutes is up, it's obvious to see I have far more wood than her.

"I won!", I shout, "Suck it, Ilya!"

"Whatever," she sighs, "Let's make this fire."

We stack some firewood into a pile, not too much of it, but enough to make a good fire. We light it with a precious match, and Delainey tosses all of us a chunk of bread to toast.

In my opinion, bread always tastes better toasted by a fire, surrounded by friends. I skewer my chunk of soft, crusty bread with a long stick, and lightly toast it.

Since this is likely our last trip before I volunteer, we've gone all-out. We've worked and worked to get some butter and jam for the bread, and cookies for all of us. Then after I win, we have freedom to choose what we can toast with our fire.

"So," Delainey says, buttering her bread, "How exactly are you going into the Games, Jules?"

"Easy," I say, "No one else will want to volunteer, and I just run to the stage. No questions asked."

"Tell them how you can win, Jules," adds Tate.

"Also easy. Grab an axe, kill everyone in my path."

"Kill?", questions Cynthia. She doesn't quite know what the Hunger Games are yet. They sent a letter with her home a few days ago saying they would start covering the Hunger Games after the Reaping. Little Cynthia's going to be studying the games that I win.

"Yes, I will have to kill," I say, "But it's for good. Cousin Jean would want me to. Plus, we can get marshmallows for camping."

* * *

 **I had to re-upload this because I was half-asleep and forgot the A/N and the fancy titles. Typical Winter.**

 **Anyway, what were your thoughts on this chapter! Rowan and Jules were submitted by BrokenMockingjay and Little Knight Mik, thank you both for your amazing tributes! Opinions on Jules' volunteering? On Rowan's chances?**

 **Also, shoutout to four amazing fanfic writers at my school! The links to the profiles of Lolsy, Devils, Rabbit and Cato can be found on my profile!**

 **Thank you all for following my SYOTs!**


	5. District Five: Kelsey and Aaron

**Kelsey von Rattletale, 12, District 5 Female**

 _"I want to tell you a story, and I hope you'll like it."_

* * *

In stories, ice is usually bad. In the books I've read, most featured ice as something to run away from, something that destroys life, something harsh and dangerous, unlike fluffy snow. There's no snow in District Five, so that makes no sense. We do have an ice rink though.

I love it to death. Gliding around gracefully on the rink is my favourite thing to do, and I've met a lot of amazing people here. There's a skip in my step at school the days I know I'm going there, when I'm waiting for the bell to ring, so I can grab my bag and run down to my lesson.

"Hey, Kelsey!"

I'm snapped out of my thoughts and back into the rink as Felicity walks up to me. She's only ten, but she's really great to be around. I like seeing her here, I don't see her at school because her mother homeschools her.

"Hi, Felicity! How're you today?"

Her face lights up with an excited grin. "I'm great, thanks Kels! I saw Jordan earlier, he was carrying something weird. He told me to go ahead, so he'll probably be here in a few minutes."

"Cool!"

As far as I knew, today was a normal day. I guess I was wrong. With that description, today's lesson has the possibility to be really awesome.

Heidi soon arrives as well. She's an orphan and is schooled at the orphanage, but she won a scholarship to skate with us. At ten years old, she has more natural talent than any of us. Oh, and apparently she and Felicity are an item. Like, they like like each other. I know they're only ten, but they're pretty cute together. She makes a beeline towards Felicity, and they hug. I smile, and strap my skates on to practice. I make my way onto the rink, and start skating. It feels like coming home.

Greco and Daniel, both teenagers, come in together, and wave at us before making their way over to the ice hockey area. We know them a little, but not as much as we know everyone in our skating class. They sort of treat us like younger siblings, which is sometimes annoying, but usually they're nice. And they do trust us, which is good.

While I stop to take a break, Jordan comes in with a big plastic box, the littlies, Zoey and Eunice, in tow. He's out of breath, from carrying the box or Zoey and Eunice running around, no one knows. They're good kids, but just watching those girls can really tire one out sometimes.

"Yo, Jordy! What's up with that big box?" Heidi never really beats around the bush.

"Um..stuff, haha."

Jordan's had a crush on Heidi ever since she first stepped foot in this building, and gots to sometimes embarrassing lengths to gain her attention. No one really wants to break it to him that she's not into boys, so he remains blissfully oblivious. We hope he'll find a different crush sometime soon, Felicity in particular finds it annoying that he's flirting with her girlfriend.

"Wow," Felicity deadpans, "such a helpful explanation."

"Is it a new hobby?" Zoey enquires, "We ALL know you can't choose something. Well, apart from skating."

"Best not to say, Zoeykins."

She's unimpressed by the nickname, but ignores it. Jordan places the box down, and opens his locker. This must have been why he left his skates here last week.

"Okay, skaters, get ready and on the rink!"

Our instructors, Kori and Lorelei, emerge from, well, wherever they go before training, and we get started. They, of course, ask Jordan about the box, and he gives a similarly vague answer.

I've always thought them to be cool. Kori graduated high school a few years ago, and is studying astronomy at a lab close by. It was her telling us about it that got me interested in researching stars and things like that, but not really for science. She loves skating to death, but doesn't really want to make a career out of it. Lorelei, on the other hand, is training to be in Capitol skating competitions, and has already gone to a few in One. She was a fierce advocate for inter-district travel, and when it finally got legalised a few years ago, she could finally pursue her competitive skating dreams.

We go onto the ice, and we do the stuff we've been doing for weeks now. We're preparing for a concert in the district, where kids put on a Capitol-approved show for Capitolite tourists. Greco, Daniel, and the others over at ice hockey are training for their exhibition match, while our class and the higher-level skaters prepare our respective performances. Heidi gets most of the difficult moves, since she's the least likely to make a mistake, but Jordan, Felicity and I get a lot of interesting parts too. Zoey and Eunice do less difficult stuff, but to non-skaters, it looks pretty impressive. I hope we do well, we have been practicing for quite a while now.

Our costumes, that we all helped make on a sunny weekend a few weeks ago, look pretty cool too. They were just normal clothes, but we painted stars and snowflakes and sunbeams on them, so they stand out and look amazing. Everyone did their own costume, and all of them look great. Even Jordan, who says he's very bad with paint, made a nice outfit.

Soon, we have a break to get drinks and sit down. Of course, we all ask Jordan if he can show us what's in the box. He finally agrees, and we huddle around him and the box, and he opens it to reveal….a…what?

"It was once a cake," he says, "It must have gotten a bit tossed around in the box, but I was around of it."

"Well, why didn't you put it in a smaller box?" asks Zoey.

"This was the only one I had."

"Is it still edible?" asks Heidi.

"Good question," he replies, and pulls a plastic fork out from a pocket in his bag to try a bit with, "It tastes fine, and I only made it today. I made sure to wash the box before I put the cake in, too."

"In that case," says Felicity, "who wants some cake?"

* * *

 **Aaron Summerslim, 18, District 5 Male**

 _"Heck, you want me to fight? My stylist wouldn't appreciate her hard work being ruined!"_

* * *

"You have to admit, this dress does look quite good," comments Beth.

I can see her point, it's blue and has this weird collar that would look awful on another dress but somehow work here. I doubt it would look very good on her, she isn't really someone who makes blue work. I suppose Soph or Wilder or Tawny or myself could make it work.

"Beth, pass it here!"

Confused, she tosses the dress to me. I duck out of the room for a second, and when I come back and do a little twirl, they're shell-shocked. I suppose I do look quite nice. They shouldn't be so shocked. It's just a dress, they've seen me in dresses before. Especially considering Tawny and the other dudes in our group wear dresses as freely as I do. Plus, no one else would dare judge, we're at the top of the food chain at school, the most popular kids in the grade. Probably even the school too, we're the highest grade.

"What? It's just a dress!"

"No!" yells Beth, "You ripped the damn dress! If you're going to wear it, at least wear it properly!"

"Hmph."

I hesitantly go back to the bathroom to take the dress off, and slip back into my bland as hell shorts and shirt. I glance at the dress, trying to find what went wrong. Soon, I see a long tear at the back of the bodice, and wince. When going back into the room, I make sure to hand the dress to Tawny instead of Beth.

"No offence, Bethy, but Tawny is, out of all of us, least likely to butcher this awesome dress," I say with a small smirk.

"That's true," adds my auburn-haired friend, "Remember when I made that awesome dress for your birthday, Soph?"

"How could I forget?", sighs Soph, adjusting her ponytail, "It was like wearing a giant cupcake."

That dress is legendary. For Soph's birthday a few years ago, Tawny made this amazing dress, which probably took him ages, as a joke present! It was pink, with an enormous, round, frilly skirt that puffed out like icing. I know Soph appreciated the effort, but it wasn't her style. She gave it to Wilder for his birthday a few months later, but it suited him even less. So it rotated between all of us until Tawny's birthday this year, when he gave up and stuffed it in his closet, only bringing it out when we're dared to wear it for a day, usually with matching hairclips.

"You know you love it," says a smirking Tawny, sewing up the tear with experienced hands.

"Does anyone even remember why I called you here?" asks Beth, "You've all been too busy making dirty jokes and ripping perfectly good clothes!"

"Actually, I was _fixing_ …"

"SHUT UP!" Beth takes a minute to compose herself, and straightens her glasses. "Anyway, I called you here to practice make-up. Guys, your fashion sense is great, but when you try and do your face, it looks like you've stumbled out of a Capitol strip club, drunk and alone. That's why I'm going to teach you."

She pulls out all her cosmetics, some taken from her mother, others stolen from various laces around the district. Maybe she actually got some of them legitimately. No wonder she keeps them hidden from most people. I'm suddenly glad I wore boring clothes today, no one will miss these abominations if I spill something. The next half hour is filled with her trying her absolute hardest to teach us the art of cosmetics. They're pointless, achieving true style should be done with clothes. If you wear a dress well enough, even if you look like you just crawled out of Twelve, you will look amazing. Otherwise, I'm afraid you have no talent.

..That's not to say I hate them. If you already have style (like me), a bit of make-up will always enhance your face.

Beth raises her perfectly-shaped eyebrows. "Wow. You actually look…like normal people. Hm."

"Are you saying we aren't normal?!", shouts Tawny from the corner, a look of mock rage on his face.

"In her defence," replies Wilder, "We use basically all the cosmetics in Panem, most of them illegally, not naming any names, _BETH_! Oh, and more than half of us are crossdressers."

"What's so weird about crossdressers?" I ask.

Really, it shouldn't be thought of as weird. We're just wearing clothes that apparently our gender isn't allowed to wear. I've wondered if I'm transgender or something, but I soon came to the conclusion that I'm just a guy who likes dresses. But no, the old ladies at the shop have to be like, _Oh, there go those troubled chaps in dresses, where did their parents go wrong?_ It annoys me so much!

Wilder doesn't answer. Damn straight.

"To break this tension, I suggest a competition." We turn to look at Soph, a wicked grin spreading across the brunette's face. "I know for a fact that no one's listened to Bethany.."

"Don't call me that."

"Fine. I know that no one's listened to Beth teach you all about make up. Everyone does their own face. Winner gets bragging rights, and the loser? Well, we'll see."

"A wonderful idea, my dear Soph," says Beth with the same wicked grin, a sign that something hellish is about to come if we don't look like Victors at the end of this.

"Let the First Annual Make-Up Games begin!" they yell in unison.

"Isn't that in kind of bad taste, considering the Reapings are in a week?"

"Eyes on the concealer, Tawny."

I only remember a bit of Beth's long lecture. It's not my fault, I just don't like long words! I think I remember enough, so I make my face into a thing of beauty. Well, more than it already is.

"Time's up, charity cases!" yells Soph, making me jump, "Beth and I will judge you three. HARSHLY!"

She looks at Tawny, Wilder and I with her harsh eye. She's good at intimidating people, I'll give her that. After one final sweep, she sits down again to announce her final decision.

"The winner is…Wilder!"

He cheers, proud that he won. He does look pretty damn good, so he deserves it. As for me? I know I don't need any extra help, I'm already pretty darn awesome.

* * *

 **After too long without an update, I am back! YAY!**

 **First of all, 101romansoldier and Birkaran, I am so sorry! I was lacking a lot of inspiration for the Ten chapter, so I decided to write Five first, as I had several ideas for these tributes that I thought would help me get back my motivation to continue FSA. I promise, District Ten will be next.**

 **Secondly, I might have lost the list of districts I was going to write, so I can't remember the order except that One is last. I remember that one for the irony. After Ten, I'll randomise the remaining districts and write according to that.**

 **What were your thoughts on the chapter? What are your opinions on Kelsey and Aaron? They were submitted by Platrium and Little_Darling_Devil respectively, thanks for these awesome tributes!**

 **I've found inspiration and motivation to continue with the Reapings, hopefully I'll be able to update again soon! Thank you all so much for following my stories, even if they haven't been updated in ages.**


	6. Interlude: The Tale Of Twins

_"I'm glad you're here, I've been meaning to tell this story for quite some time."_

 _The figure picks up an old, dusty journal, and flips it open to the first page. They clear their throat, and start to speak._

 _"You know how people say that hearing a certain story impacted them growing up? That's nice for them, but for me it wasn't that easy. I saw this story, heard it, felt it and lived it, before I could even read. And now I think someone else should know._

 _Once upon a time, a city was bombed to ashes for believing something different to the kings and queens of the world. That didn't stop that city, that magical, strong, fighting city, from seeing the truth. They hid far underground, where no royalty with wool over their eyes could hold them at gunpoint ever again. Well, that didn't turn out to be true. But that's for later._

 _It was not only them who knew the truth. The people in neighbouring cities, they were starting to get it too. But it was the bombed city that started the fire. The other cities weren't destroyed, but in the long run, they were hurt more than the underground city._

 _A war was started. The other cities didn't know their bombed friends, but the fact that their city was destroyed made them angry. And so they challenged the kings and queens, who of course couldn't let the cities know the truth, or they wouldn't have the jewels and fine wines and power they adored so much. So a war began._

 _The war tore the cities to shreds over ten long years, while the bombed city built themselves up underground. They trained their children harder and faster as soldiers, spies, assassins, in case fires tore apart their small world again. And that's where Rosemary comes in._

 _Rosemary was a great fighter, nimble and athletic. By the age of eight, she could list a disturbing amount ways to disable a group of enemy soldiers, and more to kill them. At eighteen, she had the potential to make the kings and queens quiver in their boots. But she was also devastatingly beautiful, with cobalt blue eyes and auburn hair that somehow managed to stay clean and radiant in the gruelling training given to every teenager who called the underground city home._

 _Many noticed her beauty, but only one held her attention for more than a day or two. His name was Tiburon, and he could almost match her. He could never defeat her in melee weapons, but had accuracy matched by no one. He could shoot a gun blindfolded and hit the target exactly where he wanted. He could swim like a merman and run like a cheetah. His face was bland, but he made up for it in skill._

 _Rosemary was always competitive. And Tiburon was her biggest rival._

 _But then she felt something most unwelcome in her overly sterile home. Tiburon felt the same thing. And soon enough, their peers told dazzling tales about them in hushed voices, when they wanted to bring colour to the white halls. None would admit it, but they revered the cutthroat couple, the slashing sweethearts, the gruesome twosome._

 _And soon enough, the nuclear newlyweds._

 _They didn't have many more adjectives to use."_

 _The figure chuckles softly at this, and keeps reading._

 _"Soon, Rosemary was expecting a baby. Now the rumour-spreaders, now medics or soldiers, whispered about how the baby would be the best warrior since their parents, with their genes. Rosemary and Tiburon were happy._

 _But a major battle erupted with the kings and queens. Tiburon was drafted to go fight. Rosemary would go with him, but the city didn't want to endanger a baby that might well win the war for them. So Tiburon kissed Rosemary goodbye, and promised to be back in time for the birth of their child._

 _But this isn't some happy story. This was real life. And things rarely go to plan. When Tiburon and his fellow students entered combat, they had no idea it would last for three long weeks. The Battle of Rubies claimed many lives on both sides in those bloody weeks, and on the final day of the battle, Tiburon was shot fatally. His comrades had fallen before him. No one was there while Tiburon's blood mingled with that of his team, and he whispered Rosemary's name as his vision faded._

 _That night, Rosemary gave birth to twin girls, with Tiburon's white-blonde hair and her piercing cobalt eyes, and most strikingly, birthmarks shaped like crescent moons over one's left eye, and the other's right. A bittersweet twist of fate was that Rosemary never knew her husband had been killed with the very weapon he loved, as she passed away giving birth to her daughters._

 _But not before she named them. Perigee was the one with the left eye birthmark, Tsukimi with the right._

 _They shook their heads while their best warrior died on a hospital bed, but immediately whisked the twins away for top-notch care._

 _And that was the start of the twins being revered as warrior goddesses._

 _When they grew up, they were fed the best food, and dressed in the finest clothes the city could offer. Yes, they were plaid dresses in pastel colours, but still luxurious compared to the grey tunics work by everyone else. And true to their genes, they were brilliant fighters. Perigee inherited the stellar aim of her father, but favoured the crossbow, while Tsukimi proved to be adept at martial arts, and paired those skills with brass knuckles and kakute and the like. The citizens looked in to see their fluffy-haired goddesses training, and smiled. They would save their city or die with pride. Either was fine with them._

 _And Tsukimi wanted out._

 _She was always the more bold out of the twins, and Perigee would follow her sister to the ends of the earth. So they hatched a plan to escape their prison, and ran away on a cold wintry night._

 _Of course, they were found by the military of the city. They had the foresight to bring weapons with them, so they fought against their own people, who'd trained them, fed them, worshipped them since the day they came into the world eighteen years ago._

 _But they were no match. A bullet hit Perigee in the heart, and she died soon afterwards. Her body was brought back to the city, her fluffy blonde hair lank and her skin cold. She was burnt outside the city, in the ruins of what came before the bombing._

 _And Tsukimi? That night she snatched her sister's pack off the snowy ground, and ran into the woods. She was never seen again._

 _That was my city, and since the twins ran away, our world was in ruins. So here I am. I'd rather be anywhere else, to be completely honest, but I just want to get my work done quickly. Like our city. Unlike what our city believed in the past."_

 _They close the book, and pull out a handgun._

 _"Now that you've heard this, I have to make sure no one else will. Thank you for listening."_

* * *

 **Happy one-year anniversary of FSA! I hoped to have this completed by now, but I haven't even done half the reapings. Why's that? Well, I owe you all an explanation.**

 **My laptop was broken beyond repair last year, but due to the warranty placed over it, I could get another one for a lower price. That process took months, but I was able to welcome my new laptop in early February. So what happened then? I'd been working on the D10 reapings on my brother's computer, but it was an Apple laptop, and the laptop I had was Microsoft. I made the dumb mistake of not converting the document to a compatible format for Microsoft when I moved it to my laptop, and it was corrupted. I was MAD, and decided to write an interlude so that I could update and be active while not actually being bothered to write D10. It was pretty good too, about the different escorts of these Hunger Games. But only a few days after I got my new laptop, it switched off while at school, and would not turn on for another day. I had this problem A LOT at random and inconvenient times, until one day, my laptop switched off for good. No one knew what had happened to it, not even the computer repair I went to to try to solve the problem. So another new laptop it was, and ALL of my work on my other one was deleted for good. I have the third one now, so hopefully this will be here for good. The escort interlude is gone for good, but I'm proud of what I've done with this one.**

 **The second thing was that I am a clarinet player, and have been for two years. What does that have to do with fanfiction? It's also delayed my updates. I skipped lessons and practising a lot last year, thinking it would be fine. But what my school does is every wind instrument player gets sorted into a band or orchestra. Most of those learning with me were sorted into the lowest one, and so was I. But when it came time to audition for the next level up, I didn't practice my piece at all. I thought I did well at my audition. I did not. While all my peers proceeded to the next level, or even a higher band, I was stuck in the lowest one, with people who had just started and/or were years younger than me. I hated it. My teachers hated the fact that I wasn't any good at clarinet. So I worked and worked, and yesterday I received the wonderful news that I had been moved up to a higher band with most other instrument learners who'd been learning as long as me. I'm not failing clarinet anymore, and so I won't have to practice and improve so much. I will still have to do a lot of work on it, but it won't be as frantic as my practice in recent months.**

 **Add those to a bunch of social dramas and schoolwork and homework (and run-on sentences), and you have why I haven't been as good as updating and reviewing as I used to be lately. I hope to improve and update soon (though I said that in my update AGES ago). I'm not giving up on this story. I've had a brilliant idea for this one and the stories afterwards, and I'm going to write them no matter what.**

 **But I've run into a slight problem with one of my other stories that I'm excited for. One of the things I've lost in the Great Computer Switches of 2017/18 was the team and clan list for Reality Resurrection. So I might need to shuffle some stuff around for that.**

 **Thank you for still being here after all this time,**

 **Winter**

 **(Oh, and if you skipped the italic parts, read it. It'll be important later)**


	7. District Ten: Brivette and Jesse

**Brivette Jamexson, 16, District Ten Female**

 _"Life is like a camera: you need to focus on the good, even when you want to shoot someone."_

* * *

A few years ago, I realised something depressing. There was absolutely no beauty to be found in District Ten. Unlike in One, where I've heard jewels line the streets, and Four, where beautiful blue waves come crashing in, I live in Ten, where it's always hot, unpleasant and smells of death.

You can't escape what Ten is still here for. A dead cow, the stench of blood, crates of meat being loaded onto trucks, you can't go anywhere without a brutal reminder that we are only here to slaughter livestock for the rich folks in the Capitol. Did I also mention the terrible heat?

Of course, my parents didn't think of that before bringing nine of us into this world. You'd have thought they'd be happy with one or two, maybe three, like normal people. But no, I have eight younger siblings who I'm apparently supposed to take care of. But they're tough, they can take care of themselves. And as long as you steer clear of the butchers' knives, you'd have to try REALLY hard to get yourself killed in this boring dump.

But I'm the oldest, so I suppose I have some kind of instinct to make a better world for them. And for me. Whatever.

"Smile, kid! And put your arm up like so, yes! You have it! And put some EXPRESSION into it! Okay, cool!"

Brewster steps back from in front of the camera with a smile, and stretches his arms. He grabs a snack from my sister Bridget, and a few of us run up to fix his hair before the next photo.

I found a stack of old cameras near a trash can two years ago. I brought them home and my sis Ballata fixed them up. Now we take photos, because if our world isn't beautiful, we're going to make it beautiful. That's the good thing about having eight siblings, everyone's willing to pitch in.

Ballata's the oldest, behind me of course, at 17. She's probably the prettiest out of all of us, behind me of course, with this nice blue-eyes-blonde-hair thing going on. Everyone in her grade falls at her feet, so she's one of our more popular models. She doesn't usually model though, preferring to take care of the tech behind the scenes, which only makes actual shoots of her rarer and more valuable.

Then there's Brewster at 16, who I just finished photographing. He too is my brother. He's attractive too, but not as much as Ballata. He actually likes to model, which is nice.

Two years younger than Brew are Bayley and Banjo, twins. Bay is like a younger me, smart, pretty, and loves taking photos. Banjo prefers drawing, so we just get him to doodle cool designs on the photos. When they aren't doing that stuff, they also handle makeup and hair with Brew.

A year younger is Bridget, who does catering. Why do we need catering for a nine-person photography team? Because we get HUNGRY AS HECK.

Then triplets, the youngest: Beatrix, Begonia and Berkeley, at the tender age of twelve. What can a bunch of little kids do? They run the most important operation of all, distributing the photographs. Bea is a photographer for the school paper, so is usually able to get us some good publicity there. Lee is one of the most business-savvy pre-teens I know, so usually sells a bunch of our work in the markets or something. Begonia sends the remaining photos to a Capitol publication for them to take credit for, in return for some nice money.

It's a pretty great operation. We're well-off, and we have a lot of fun doing it. Most importantly, we look beautiful while making everyone's lives beautiful. Brew and Bay make sure of that.

Our operation is in what was a barn, but is now the best photography studio in the district. We moved here about five years ago, and I'm fairly sure I overheard my parents talking about how this used to be the house of a family of a former tribute, and the barn was where he had a makeshift training centre. I've done a bit of research, and it's either Ryder Lapierre or Dashiell Sayre. After all this time, I'm still not entirely sure who it is.

It looks pretty great, if I do say so myself. I mean, a place where beauty is created must look beautiful, right? Honestly, old sheets and paint can make everything look great. Why didn't we spend our hard-earned money on fancier decorations? We wanted nicer food. Bridget agreed with this.

"Brie, how many photos do we have left?", asks Begonia, "I want to send this collection to Capitol Idea before sunset."

"Why sunset? _Capitol Idea_ can wait a few days," I reply, "We're taking, like, four more. BREWSTER JAMEXSON, BE READY IN TWO!"

I turn to another sister. "Bridge, how long will the chicken wings be?"

"Brie, be reasonable. There's no way the buffalo chicken will be ready any time soon. It took an eternity and a whole paycheck to import this stuff from the Capitol, and I'm not ruining it because you're too impatient."

"Hey, I can fire you."

"Whatever, I'll check," she sighs, and runs off.

"Bay, have you finished Brew's hair?", I yell across the room.

"I think so!", she shouts back, "What do you think?"

"Bay, I can't see that far away! Whatever, he's probably fine with that hair."

"Come on, Brie, you need to get glasses," says Ballata, suddenly appearing beside me, spanner in hand, "It's not like we don't have money."

"Heck no! Do you KNOW any famous photographers with glasses?"

"Well, Amadea Brilliance, Pleasant Rosabelle, Odysseus Kyneston…"

"Whatever. Make sure Camera 5 is in working condition within, umm, five seconds!"

I walk up to the camera. Brew is standing in the perfect position. I smile as I ready the camera, trying to get the perfect shot. I will get the perfect shot. My siblings and I will make it big someday, just you wait and see.

"Say cheese!"

* * *

 **Jesse Cooke, 16, District 10 Male**

 _"Well, that could have gone better."_

* * *

Yet another boring class in this boring school in this boring district. The rest of Panem isn't boring. It's actually pretty cool. But I'm still bored.

I don't know why the bigwigs in the government still think people like us need to learn history lessons. Most of us are going to grow up to become butchers or something, and the only thing they need to keep us from rebelling is one boring historical lecture per year. But no, they still have to give us them multiple times a week.

I make a face at Kailey across the room. She smiles back. She's the light of my life, I can only hope I'm the light of hers. She hates it as much as I do, though she probably needs it more. Her goal is to be the mayor of Ten, and with that I guess you need to know a lot of history. Me? I'm just going to whittle stuff and hope for the best.

My family has this weird thing where everyone, once they come of age, has to carve their life story in wood. When is "coming of age"? I have no idea. My dad tells me it's when "true purpose is found" or something like that. I guess that means I won't be carving my autobiography any time soon.

I can't help but feel lost. I'm learning stuff that'll never apply to me, to prepare me for a boring job feeding cattle or something like that. The air here make me feel sick, and the only escape is if you're some sort of wonder kid and go to be a doctor in the Capitol or if you die. Kailey's the only one keeping me from volunteering for the Games at this point.

Well, that's not true. I can't forget about my best friend Tony. He's amazing, honestly. He stuck around while I was recovering from a snake bite that nearly killed me when I was ten. He gave me the confidence to confess to Kailey two years ago. Most importantly, he's stuck through me through everything. And that takes a special kind of person.

He's not in this class though. But I think it'll be over soon. I can see some people trying to quietly slide pencils and notebooks into their bags. I don't, for I never took anything out in the first place. There's no point, since nothing in this lesson will help me in any way once I leave.

The bell rings, and I can feel the room relax as people start talking. I walk over to Kailey, who's still packing up. She smiles, grabs her backpack, and we leave. We don't need to ask the other where to go. We already know.

After several minutes of sneaking around the district, we come across an abandoned paddock, which we named the Abandoned Paddock. We're quite creative with names out here out in Ten, you see. It's the only place where we can really hang out without authorities hearing talk that may be seen as anti-Panem, without adults, who seem to treat us like the cattle they herd and kill, and our classmates, who'd definitely take over this place if they heard of it.

"Hey guys, I brought snacks!"

Tony races up to us, panting. His backpack is unzipped, and it's a miracle nothing has fallen out.

"Tony!", Kailey laughs, "How fast did you have to run to catch up to us? I heard Ms. Brisket rarely lets her class out on time."

"Hella," he replies, "but at least I…nope, it's not zipped. I'll probably have to fish my textbook out of the garbage it fell into on my way home. Yaaaaaaay."

"We'll help," I say, "we don't really have anything better to do around here."

"District 10, where missing textbooks are more entertaining than, like, anything else," Tony quips, "Anyway, I know how much you guys like sandwiches."

Sandwiches are mediocre at best, but they're better than a lot of us get, so we take them. They're slightly soggy, but I'm hungry enough. It's District Ten, for Panem's sake!

"Have you guys studied for the science test?", asks Tony, "According to Brew and Lia, it's going to be really hard!"

"I'd ask how they got the papers," replies Kailey, "but honestly, knowing them, I'm not surprised they did."

"What's the point studying? They're going to find the answer sheet anyway," I add.

"Hm, good point," Tony says, "Or they'll just get a senior to make one."

Kailey shakes her head, "I'm still going to study though. They'll try to make a quick buck selling the sheet, and I want to save."

"Why though?", I say, "Brew has his photography stuff, and Lia's loaded."

"Because they're Brew and Lia," we chorus, then laugh.

"Maybe," laughs Tony, catching his breath, "Brew wants to bribe a Capitol university into accepting him. He's smart, but what kind of a stupid name is Brewster Jamexson?"

"Not as ridiculous as, like, Bubblefly High Thread Count Rhinestone," comments Kailey, "Brew will fit right in there."

"I wish we could all go to the Capitol," says Tony, "I bet it would be amazing. They have tall buildings and lights and fancy food!"

"Well, there's this thing that's coming up, a boy and a girl… too far?"

Kailey's face changes a little, and Tony bites his lip.

"Uh… let's go find my textbooks!"

I could have kissed Tony at that moment. I usually don't joke about stuff like this, but it just slipped out. I'd sooner die than have them go in that place. Maybe that's where I'm headed, it would sure beat the slaughterhouse. He zips up his backpack, and we leave, the sun setting in the distance.

Millions of slips in the bowls. Thirty that could break my life. I'd even admit there'd be a few that would make my life. And twenty-five that could do both. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

I look back at the Abandoned Paddock, just in case.

* * *

 **Well it's been a while, but I'm back! Pneumonia can be a real pain, but here's an update! I wrote a lot of it a few weeks ago, but lost motivation a bit. Luckily it's all finished now.**

 **What did you think of Brie, submitted by Birkaran, and Jesse, submitted by 101romansoldier? I'm second guessing this chapter a bit, but hopefully I'll be more comfortable with the characters as this story progresses. I'd like to say the next update will be soon, but I actually do not know. I'll try my best. Next time we're visiting the Four guys, so hopefully that'll be fun.**

 **Thank you for following my stories, even though I've been MIA for a while,**

 **Winter :)**

 **Edit: Forgot the quotes! Sorry guys, should be all fixed now.**


	8. District Four: Laine and Harmon

**Laine Slider, 17, District 4 Female**

 **"Have you ever had saltwater entering every f*** entrance to your body?"**

* * *

What do you do when school's out for Reaping week, and the Sandbar's closed for the night for all but the most dedicated future tributes? Well, what's my home known for?

My friends and I like the beach. Well, that's obvious, we're from Four. I believe that there is always one place or activity that makes you feel like you're home, and for us, it's the ocean. A lot of people (the training stars and popular kids, mostly) wouldn't be caught dead here. Something about Capitol stereotypes or some crap. We don't have that kind of self-restraint. It would be like leaving home forever.

We run back from school to our respective houses, to quickly get changed. I of course put on my beloved wetsuit, as I always do when I sail out. I don't bother with shoes as I run out to the meeting place to wait for everyone else.

Soon, I'm with five others, my best friends. There's Bruce at sixteen, king of innuendos and wielding an axe. He'll volunteer in a few years, but I try not to think about that. Splash missed his chance to volunteer, so he stays with us. He's a trainer-in-training, and though he and Bruce could roll with the non-beachers, they hang out with our group. Then Anemone, my best friend. I trust her more than anyone, I've known her since I was four.

Then of course, my cousin Svalvard. I've known him since I was born, of course. He's absolutely insane, but in a good way. And of course, wherever Val goes, his boyfriend Mutiny follows. Mutiny, well, what's there to say about Mutiny? He's a riot!

We're

"We taking the boat, Lainey?", Val asks.

"Firstly," I reply, "never call me that ever again. Secondly, well, no. We're taking the rocket."

"We're going to Neptune," laughs Mutiny, tossing food into the boat.

Bruce smiled, "Then he's going…"

"DON'T!", yelled Anemone, "Mutiny, why must you enable this?"

"Because art is dead. Now, let's get this boat on the road!"

After tossing ungodly amounts of supplies in, we head out into the ocean. After a long, boring day at school, we're finally free. We get the week off because of the Reaping on the weekend, even at the Sandbar, where we train for it. Well, except for the volunteers. I'm fairly sure the volunteers are Caspia Stone and Harmon St. James this year. No one has seen much of Cas or Harmon recently, probably because of training.

"We're out!" I yell to the wind, "Who wants an adventure!"

"Aye aye, Captain Laine," replies Mutiny, "Let's pop by the Capitol, I hear they have really nice boats."

"But in all seriousness, there's an island off Panem we could probably bug out to," says Anemone, "you know, if things get tough or something happens."

"You know, I'd like that," says Splash, "It would be quieter around there, we could make our own rules."

"Is it even legal?," asks Val, "I mean, we're escaping Panem. You know, that country with the, uh, weird government?"

"Svalvard! No Capitol-hating in this household!", chides Mutiny, "You know how much we LOVE our president! So benevolent! So wonderful!"

Svalvard cackles, "Of course, anything for the guys who eat diamonds for dessert!"

We're probably safe out here, we're far enough out that no one will hear us. My family has a lot of leeway with the mayor because we held onto our wealth during the rebellion, and used some of it to re-build Four. Not many of the interesting parts, mind you, just some government buildings. With this, we can sail pretty far out on our boat.

"We can't sail that far on an empty stomach," comments Anemone, "so who's up for dinner?"

"Heck yes!", says Splash, "Being a trainer in training comes with its perks, you know? So I brought some food."

"Like, the trainers ACTUALLY have the best food?", gasped Bruce, "But... actually, I'm not going to question that if you smuggled it out."

Splash tosses us all a small plastic case each, holding some cookies, two weird pastry pocket things, and a handful of nuts. Over in Four, we use plastic cases instead of paper bags or something, because a lot of us work near the water. As such, too many of us have lost a needed meal to the fish.

Like now. Splash overshoots his throw, sending Bruce's lunch into the ocean. Almost by instinct, I dive in after it, luckily grabbing it before it sinks too far. I take a second to look around at the water around me, happy, then swim back up to meet my friends.

"..and we'll of course cremate her wetsuit with her.. Laine! You're back!"

"Ha ha," I joke, "so funny. Here's your dinner, Bruce."

"Thanks, Captain," he says, "Ooh, cookies!"

We dig into our food, and discover that Splash wasn't lying, the trainers at the Sandbar actually are quite well-fed. Splash was right for not volunteering if it means he gets to eat stuff like this. I mean, us normal people get fish, but fish for your whole life, no matter how it's cooked, can get a little boring.

"Hey Splash, what rank do you have to be to get this spread?", asks Svalvard, "The best us trainer-trainee-trainees get are protein shakes, which only kiss-ups from Two actually like, by the way, and tears."

"Dunno, Val. One day they just approached me in hoodies and snorkelling gear, and abducted me. They took me to a secret basement, with this great food and some really nice scented candles."

"Is it disturbing that I don't know whether or not you're lying?", asks Anemone, laughing.

We talk a bit more, about rumours going around, about the mysterious island we could claim as our own, about who would officiate if Svalvard actually had the fish guts to propose to Mutiny. The Games don't come up once.

Anemone pulls out a water container from between some extra rope and an extra food container. She grabs some cups from under a thermal blanket, and pours us each one.

"I would like to make a toast," she says, "To the sea, to the sky, to mermaids and sharks, to surfing and sailing and training. And evenings like this. Freedom. And most of all, this amazing crew of pirates. Well, we don't pirate stuff, but close enough!"

"Cheers!"

* * *

 **Harmon St. James, 18, District 4 Male  
**

 **"This game is my composition, and right now, this is your outro."**

* * *

I smooth down my black jacket and adjust my matching bow tie. My cummerbund is already spotless, as are my pants. It's the quintessential tuxedo, perfectly tailored to my measurements.

Black tie dress is always required for these events. My mother and father, wealthy and influential, have a penchant for hosting events, inviting any socialite who happens to pass by. Four is one of the more pleasant places in Panem, its quaint seaside charm attracting many a Capitolite, so these parties are held quite often. I do not understand the appeal, not that I am found anywhere near the beach.

My mother glides past in her black gown. Annabelle St. James, the picture of perfection. At least, for people who do not know her well. I personally believe that she is a greedy micromanager obsessed with her beauty and social prestige and nothing else, but that is irrelevant. How I'd love to see her fall.

"If I may have your attention," she says, "Today, we are truly …blessed to have some entertainment. He is a piano …virtuoso and most importantly, he is an eligible bachelor. My son, Harmon St. James."

I walk over to the piano to polite applause, but before I sit down, I am required to make a short speech. I dislike this rule, but to appease my guardians, I have to abide by it.

"Good afternoon," I address the small crowd, "A few years ago, my delightful mother discovered a quite lovely piece. Regretfully, she did not pass on the name to me, for reasons I cannot fathom, but like a clean cut to the throat to a sacrifice from a noble tribute, it is fast, smooth, and almost poetic in its execution. Therefore, I have named it "Knife Dance". I have also written vocal accompaniment."

My speech over, I sit down, my sheet music on its stand. I start playing the introduction, my fingers playing the keys almost by instinct. I do not even need to focus, my fingers just do what they want. My mother's subtle insinuations in her address were false, I know I excel at the piano. I do not usually subscribe to the theory that there is always one place or activity that makes you feel like you are home. I do not believe in any of these theories. But occasionally, when I play the piano, I can almost feel where they're coming from. I can feel something nice.

After a particularly fun part, I start to sing. Blood coating a battlefield, a lifeless body being lifted gracefully into the sky. Then lastly, a final fight. Goodness, I enjoy these. My song tells the story of a noble boy, all bronze hair and strength, stripping the lifeforce from a wayward street child from a backwards district like Ten. The boy is free, free to express his interests to the world, free to feel. No more baby blues and fine events, just ruby red and cold, hard death.

During the instrumental in the middle of the piece, I glance around at the room while my fingers do the work. They are hooked on my singing voice, smiling as I play. Evidently they have not listened closely enough to the lyrics. That, or they're just so used to the Games that they find this normal. I can hardly blame them.

I turn back to the piano to deliver the final notes. The battle is finished now. The bronze-haired boy is lifted out of the arena, having had three glorious weeks of freedom. The audience applauds as I bow, and walk off the stage.

My father takes the stage to give a speech or something equally useless to me, so I escape to my bedroom. Sitting on my bed is a rectangular box with a note on top. I walk over to it, and read the note.

Son,

We have been notified that you have been selected as a tribute by the Training Academy officials. While somewhat disappointed you have not informed us of this development, considering your recent good behaviour, we will not address this error in communication. As a token for the Hunger Games this year, please accept this. We expect you to use it to gain sponsors.

Regards,  
Edward and Annabelle St. James.

I toss the note aside, and open the box. It iss lined with velvet, and nestled within the box are the three parts that make up a piccolo. Despite myself, I smile. Music is always here. When I consider snapping, I think of music. It tells me I should save my wrath for a time worthy of it.

Ever since I was small I was taught all about music. My main lessons were about the piano and voice, of course, but I also dabbled in harp, cor anglais and soprano saxophone. I always enjoy new instruments.

I quietly slip through the crowds out of the house, running to the district library. It's a dismal place, but has amazing music books. Considering I do not have a lot of time to learn the piccolo, these resources will help me. I can only hope no one will hold me up.

I exit a few hours later armed with knowledge about every aspect of the piccolo: the key, the tuning, how to play it. I wrote a lot of it down on some manuscript paper I always have on hand. It's not a waste of paper if there's always more of it at home.

Soon, I can slip back into the house and upstairs to assemble my piccolo. I hastily do so, then open one of my favourite piano books to a piece I quite like. I am happy that the piccolo shares a key with the piano, as it means I don't have to transpose.

I play a soft, flowing melody on the instrument. The calm before the storm. Soon, I'll be able to let the storm out. It's just a matter of time before they find out what I was truly meant to be.

* * *

 **Enjoy this small burst of productivity. It probably won't last.**

 **What do you think of Laine from HoppsHungerfan and Harmon from SparkALeah? What might happen to put Laine in the Games? What is Harmon planning?**

 **Unfortunately, I have some sad news. The user that reserved the D12M spot has DISAPPEARED OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH (or, you know, this site). So I will have to open up subs for that position again. Sorry about the delay. PM me if you'd like the form.**

 **Next time, we're going to *spins wheel* District Nine! What a district! Very.. grain-y.**

 **Thanks for following this story,**

 **Winter**

 **Edit: Fixed minor grammatical error. Laine probably doesn't care about it. I however do.**


End file.
